


World War Uke

by JAMoczo



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-03
Updated: 2013-08-03
Packaged: 2017-12-22 07:55:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 4
Words: 5,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/910762
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JAMoczo/pseuds/JAMoczo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>England and Germany fight over who has the better boyfriend. America and Italy just want to find The Atmosphere. Contains UKUS, GerIta, some Franada, and a healthy dose of crack.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For those of you not in the know, in the original translation of Hetalia, Italy and America are singled out for "not being able to read the atmosphere," which basically means they're not paying attention to the mood or to what's going on. Italy is that oblivious, and America just doesn't care. So that's the entire joke premise of this story XD

It all started with Italy deciding he was sick of ridicule for not reading _The Atmosphere._ "It's apparently very popular, like _The Prince_ or _Harry Potter!_ I love to read so it seems silly I haven't read _The Atmosphere_ yet!"

"I totally get ripped for that all the time!" America exclaimed. "'You don't read _The Atmosphere,_ you don't even know what _The Atmosphere_ is, blah blah blah fish and chips!' Well if SOMEONE would just LEND it to me maybe I could read it too!"

"Morons," Romano spat before leaving. Canada only thought it as he also left.

England and Germany merely shared a Look. It was akin to one often shared by America and Spain, Italy and Hungary, France and Greece - a Look that said "Our partners are jerks/crazy stern/disturbingly polite" and so on. This particular Look was fairly obviously "our partners are incredibly stupid."

"We should go find it!" Italy trilled. "It'll be like a treasure hunt!"

"Awesome! I ROCK at treasure hunts!" America stood up, striking a dramatic pose. "Seriously you should see me at Easter time! I always find all the eggs like a boss!"

"Too bad he can't find any socks that match," England muttered darkly to Germany, who snorted.

Italy clapped excitedly. "Brava, brava! Where do we start?"

"Barnes & Noble! Come, my trusty sidekick!"

"Veeeeee I'm a sidekick!"

With resigned sighs, England and Germany followed their wayward significant others.

* * *

The World Conference was in Germany. Despite the fact that said nation was RIGHT THERE, neither America nor Italy thought of asking him for directions or even if Barnes & Noble operated in the country*. Wryly bemused, Germany wasn't volunteering this information up either.

"I'm still not sure if allowing these two to communicate is a good thing or a bad thing," England mused, looking at the confident America and awed Italy in front of them.

"It's good that Italy can be around someone of his own intelligence level," Germany replied darkly.

England laughed. "I'm not entirely certain who that insulted more."

"That was the point."

"I bet _The Atmosphere_ is a really really big book," Italy was trilling. "The kind with not a lot of pictures that make me want to take a siesta."

"Dude I totally feel you! Some books are really freakin' boring!"

"And if Germany likes it, it must be super boring!"

The two laughed. England and Germany did not.

"Ah ha! The Hero and his trusty sidekick have found the elusive bookstore!" America dramatically pointed to what looked to be a decrepit shack with a hastily-painted sign for "Barns and Noble" haphazardly tacked to the front. "Let the nerd times commence!"

"Veeee this isn't suspicious at all!"

"Wait a minute!" England began, but the two idiots went into the "store." "Bloody hell!"

"ITALY!" Germany roared in rage.

* * *

* It doesn't (at least according to Google).

* * *

So one thing led to another and the four nations found themselves captured by slave traders. "It's just like 'Taken' if Liam Neeson was the one kidnapped," America exclaimed. "Since he's the hero and I'm-"

"He's also from Northern Ireland," England interjected quickly. "Yes, that is part of the United Kingdom, and yes, that is what I represent."

America pouted.

Italy was crying. Germany found this ironic, considering any slaver who bought him would likely return him within a week.

"Anyone, none of this would have happened if YOU," America looked at Germany, "were awesome enough to have Barnes & Noble."

Germany's patience was wearing rather thin by now. " _Nein_ , none of this would have happened if YOU remembered you're NOT IN THE UNITED STATES. And learn to ask for directions, _dumme Schlampe_!"

America hadn't had a clue what he said, but England hissed, "I beg your pardon! If you recall this was all ITALY'S idea in the first place because HE thinks the atmosphere is a BOOK!"

"So did America!"

Meanwhile, America had found a pin, which he pushed to Italy with his foot. The latter dried his tears and picked the lock. Neither noticed the imminent declaration of war.

"All done!"

"Awesome job little guy!" Freed from the chains, America easily kicked open the back of the truck. "Let's go!"

The four left the truck, which crashed into a tree from the force of America's blow. As the nation laughed arrogantly, the other three looked around.

"Scheiße. We're in Switzerland," Germany muttered darkly.

* * *

After running while begging for forgiveness, the four found themselves in France's house, safe for the time being. Shortly after being tended to, America and Italy went to raid first his kitchen and then his library, still searching for the elusive book. This was all well and good considering England and Germany were still not pleased with each other.

"It's good you're all in shape, considering Switzerland's aim is so excellent," Canada chirped happily as he bandaged England's arm.

Under other circumstances at least England and America would have been put-out to see Canada at France's house, but there were other things to be worried about at the moment. "Never mind the small-talk! Both of you! I demand to know who you consider to be a better boyfriend, America or Italy!"

France looked like a deer caught in headlights. Canada looked incredibly uncomfortable. "I can't really answer that," he admitted softly, "After all, if I say America, I'll never hear the end of it. If I say Italy, I'll get the world's biggest noogie."

"Besides, you're his brother so you're biased," Germany reminded him bitterly.

"And I also am uncomfortable, as both are my little brothers," France added. "Besides, we all know that Canada is better."

"There's only one way to settle this, then," Germany said imperiously, ignoring that last comment.*

"Indeed! Pistols at dawn!"

"No, not like that! With a competition! We will force them to compete for points throughout a series of obstacles, and whoever wins is the better boyfriend!"

Canada groaned. "That makes no sense. This is going to go poorly."

"Like a train-wreck. Which is why we have to go along," France told him. Canada had to admit he agreed.

There came a wail from across the house. "That stupid book isn't here either!" Italy cried.

* * *

* Because it was true, even if only because Canada knew what the atmosphere was.

* * *

Being the consummate host and also hoping to get the "battles" underway, France invited his four guests out to a dinner at the fanciest restaurant in Paris ("It's got nothing on the Ritz," England commented with no lack of bitterness) after buying them all nice clothes as well. Canada was a bit ashamed at his boyfriend's blatant provocation, but he also didn't stop him.

"I haven't had a good plate of pasta in so long I've almost forgotten what it tastes like," Italy cooed as he patiently waited for his dinner.

"You had it for breakfast," Germany reminded him before remembering the scenario. "And by the way, you're the best chef I've ever met. I will gladly go to my grave eating your pasta."

France sniggered. England was hasty to declare, "Well, _America_ has people to cook _for_ him, what with his vastly superior economy!"

"Oh, ha, that's a laugh!"

"What do you mean by that!"

"America's economy being described as anything other than 'about to crash, burn and die!'"

"Heeeey," America whined, "That wasn't very nice, dude. You wouldn't even HAVE an economy if not for me!"

"Ha! He's right!"

France covered his heart, shocked that England admitted America was right about anything. Canada realized that this was about to turn into yet another argument about war, so he quickly interjected, "So, who can eat more, Italy or America?"

And thus was born the first Challenge!


	2. Chapter 2

America and Italy were assuredly not averse to this turn of events.

"I. Love. Eating. Contests!" America all but squealed. "You have no idea how happy I was when I finally beat Japan at eating hot dogs! That skinny zen master has mad skills, for serious!"

Italy's eyes were open, wide and shining. "Please tell me I can eat pasta! I don't care what kind – spaghetti, linguini, rigatoni…"

France merely sighed and arranged the entire thing. Canada felt no remorse, although he had a sinking suspicion that this entire situation would only be resolved by England and Germany getting drunk and having a pissing contest.

"… fettuccine, bucatini, garganelli…"

An enormous plate of piled-up hamburgers was placed in front of America, while an equally enormous plate of spaghetti was placed in front of Italy. The latter looked at Germany, eyes still open but now looking warily hopeful. "Can I say it?"

Germany debated. If denied, he might become less shiny and therefore more likely to lose. If allowed, he would look absurd, which was typical, yes, but… He sighed. "All right, go ahead."

Italy beamed. "PAAAASTAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"

"You'll notice how AMERICA didn't waste time with catch-phrases before whole-heartedly devoting himself to winning this competition," England crooned, gesturing. America was in fact shoving his face with hamburgers.

"Can I get a milkshake too?" he asked, mouth full.

"If you win," England replied, when normally he'd yell at him for being rude.

"Win what?" America asked.

England sighed, resigned. "Never mind. Keep eating."

America grinned. "This is the best day ever! Om nom nom!"

Italy on the other hand had a steady stream of pasta entering his mouth like a vacuum cleaner, his eyes now closed as he inhaled. France had to cover his eyes lest he get sick at watching the two of them eat as if they had bottomless pits for stomachs; the other three watched in what could only be described as morbid fascination.

When Italy's pile of pasta was gone, the nation leaned back and gave a pleased sigh. "All done," he cooed, patting a slightly rotund belly.

America on the other hand finished off his plate and raised his hand for a waiter. "Bring me seconds!"

"America wins!" England crooned victoriously, "He's asking for seconds! And you'll get those seconds, and that milkshake!"

"Awesome!"

"Pasta is more filling than hamburgers!" Germany protested heatedly, and possibly lying; he'd just made it up, so who knew if it was true or not? "If anything this is a draw!"

"Oh bollocks, you're just mad because _America_ is a _winner_ while _Italy_ is a _loser!_ "

Germany gritted his teeth. "If that were the case, I would not be in a relationship with him now would I?"

That gave England pause. "A fair point," he admitted, looking at the cheerfully oblivious Italy while unable to think of a single instance wherein he won anything. _No wonder Germany is being so defensive,_ he thought musingly. _Well, then he shouldn't have pitted Italy against **America** of all nations. Start somewhere small, like Liechtenstein, or Latvia… Maybe Luxembourg… I'd say Sealand, but he's not a nation so he doesn't count… Besides, he's British, so of course he'd win._ "Regardless, America's won this round."

"A DRAW!" Germany roared, slamming his fist on down the table. "PASTA AND HAMBURGERS ARE NOT A FAIR POINT OF COMPARISON AND I INSIST THAT THIS BE CONSIDERED A DRAW!"

Remembering that the last time that Germany got this insistent he ended up being bombed, England finally conceded that the first round was a draw.

"Germany, Germany! Touch my belly! I'm so roly-poly!" Italy exclaimed cheerfully, taking Germany's other hand and holding it to his stomach. Germany's face fell into his usual "why me?" expression, but he humored him nonetheless.

America finished off his second plate easily and drank his milkshake, humming. England looked at him while plotting the next round of events.

"I think I'm going to be sick," Canada moaned. France merely nodded in agreement.

* * *

That night they settled into France's ("Vastly inferior," England sniffed) house rather than get a hotel room. America wasn't hungry anymore; he certainly wasn't full anymore either, but he had a feeling that England's kindness would run out sooner or later and he should probably be happy with the fact he'd finally gotten to drink a milkshake with dinner. "So, uh, rough day, huh?"

England paused in the middle of undressing. "Was it really only this morning that you ran off?"

"It doesn't seem like it, but it was." America yawned and stretched out. "Craziness." He then noticed the new look on England's face, like a very hungry wolf looks at a delicious lamb dinner. "Uh…"

England smirked, and it was hardly a comforting one. "America, you and I are going to have sex. It's going to be the hottest sex you've ever had, and you're going to be so loud the entire house shakes! Everyone here will be jealous of our hot carnal liaisons."

America blinked, then grinned, deciding to ignore the warning the smirk was giving him. "Sounds good to me!"

It was for the best for America that he ignored that smirk, considering it wasn't him that England was "warning."

"They can't be serious," Germany muttered from the bed where he and Italy were cuddling. They were both wearing fluffy bathrobes and sipping hot cocoa. Germany loved to snuggle like this but refused to let anybody know that, and he'd made Italy pinky-swear to keep it a secret. "They're down the hall, and we can hear them. That's just absurd."

"America has quite the set of lungs," Italy commented from where he was using Germany's chest as a pillow. "He also swears quite a lot! I guess he gets it from England, considering England swears a lot too."

"Do you need me to get your ear plugs out?" he asked, and Italy shook his head, falling asleep peacefully. Germany permitted himself a smile, just this once. Sure Italy lost a lot, but he was awfully cute.

Meanwhile, Canada covered his head with a pillow. "Why?" he demanded, "Why don't they ever consider me when they do this? It's my ex-foster father older brother figure having sex with my twin brother! It's just so wrong! I don't care they're together but I don't want to hear them!"

France shook his head with a little smirk, not that Canada could see it. "They're doing it to show up Germany and Italy, I'm certain of it. You know them. Any chance to upstage someone else, they take it."

"Stop looking at me like that."

"Like what?"

"I can feel you. You're giving me that 'we should upstage _them_ ' smirk."

"I'm offended that you would accuse me of such a thing."

"But you're still doing it."

"Maybe. Want to?"

Apparently England then did something America really enjoyed, because he started shouting obscenities. Canada removed the pillow from his head and he gave his lover a determined look. "Let's show them up."

"I knew I loved you for a reason," France gushed.

It was a little hard to hear over the bed creaking and the fact that America was freely embracing the order to be loud, but England swore he could hear _French._

"Oh, hell no," he growled.

"Oh hell _yes_ ," America moaned.

"It wasn't supposed to be them!" England reached over and hit the wall separating them from France's bathroom. "Knock it off, you're not our rivals!"

The answer was a laughing French refusal.

"Oh, it's on now," England snarled.

"Yes please," America added, a little put out that he wasn't getting attention.

* * *

Italy woke up from his wonderfully soothing nap hours later, yawning and checking the clock. It was still before sunrise! He never woke up this early, even when Germany poked him to get to training. Germany was still asleep, in fact, and even had earplugs in. Italy practically trembled with excitement – this was clearly God's way of telling him to get up and start the search for _The Atmosphere_ again!

He stealthily slipped out of bed, dressed himself and snuck out of the room, tip-toeing down the hall. He broke into America and England's room. America was unconscious, eagle-spread on the bed, with England draped on his side. They were naked, but Italy was used to nudity – he was _European_ , after all. "Hey, hey America!" He poked the sleeping Nation in the arm.

"Mrph," said America.

Italy frowned, poking harder. "America! Pssst, America! Wake up!"

"Murphle," he replied, rolling onto his side facing Italy, dislodging England. The latter looked upset in sleep, but didn't wake up.

"Americaaaaa, I want to get going! We have an adventure to do!"

America's eyes popped open. "Adventure? Oh, hey dude!"

"Shhhh! We should get back to looking for _The Atmosphere_ now!"

America grinned, leaping from bed and dressing himself. It said a lot that England didn't even stir. "Let's go!"

Italy smiled. Really, America was just so helpful!

"We assuredly did win, you stupid frog," England muttered in sleep, curling up with his pillow.

* * *

Paris at night was dark, obviously, but nothing America couldn't defend them from. As the Hero, he considered himself Italy's bodyguard, which was probably better than assuming Italy could defend himself from anything. "So, any idea where we're goin'?" he asked.

"Not at all," Italy chirped. America wanted to pinch his cheeks. "Oh! _Ciao, bella_ ," he purred, sliding up to a woman dressed in very odd clothing.

"I charge 20 euros for mouth, 50 for the real stuff, and you need a condom," she replied sounding very bored.

America gasped. Prostitution was illegal, except for Nevada! This woman shouldn't be selling herself on the streets! And – he gasped again. She was clearly high on something!

"War on drugs!" he proclaimed loudly, running forward and punching the prostitute in the face.

Italy, surprised, screamed and hid further down the block. He screamed louder when the woman burst into flames and morphed into a hideous beast from Hell.

"OH SHIT SHE'S A DEMON!" America shouted, and even he took a few steps back.

"I WILL FEED UPON THY SOUL, MORTAL, FOR DARING TO HARM ME," the creature hissed threateningly.

America was fully prepared to defend himself when a vial of water flew from Italy's direction, smashing onto the head of the demon. " _Exorcizo te, omnis spiritus immunde_!" he cried.

His jaw dropped when the creature exploded outwards and faded from the block. "Dude! That was totally badass! You totally killed that demon! What did you just do?"

Italy smiled cherubically. "I smote it," he said as if that explained everything. "Oh, look America, there's a note!"

America picked it up, looking it over. "There's a cult in Paris' sewers, dedicated to evil," he said, awed. "Hey, does that mean France has demons in his underpants? That would explain so much!"

* * *

By the time the others realized they were gone and managed to find them, America and Italy had wiped out the entire cult and purified the area.

"I don't even want to know," Canada muttered. France had to agree.

Germany had no words. This just wasn't fair. Why could Italy fight demons but not England during World War II? Really?

"Good job, America!" England said proudly, patting America on the head. "You've done a great job here protecting the innocent from evil."

"All in a day's work," America replied proudly.

"Excuse you, but I think it's very obvious that Italy did most of the work!" Germany protested.

"How do you figure?" England demanded.

"He's Catholic!"

"That explains nothing!"

"Hey look, I found a book!" Italy held up a massive grimoire that was larger than his torso and glowing malevolently. "Oh, but it's not _The Atmosphere._ " He put it back.

"Are you insane!" England snapped. "Look at it – it's clearly an ancient magical text that would give you great strength and powers! You don't just put that sort of thing back because it's not the book you're looking for, especially since the book you're looking for doesn't-"

"Oh look, you found my book!" Russia picked it up and hugged it to his chest. "Thank you, I have been looking for this everywhere."

No one had a good response to that.


	3. Chapter 3

"I've thought of the next contest," England said proudly, hand on America's shoulder. They were all back from the latest failed attempt of America and Italy to find _The Atmosphere_ , and Italy was looking terribly forlorn about it.

"But first," said France warily, as a sad Italy was very depressing, "maybe we should give Italy a point for, ah, clearing out the evil underground of Paris? And that is something I never thought I would ever say."

"Heeey, I helped." America pouted.

Italy perked up considerably at France's offer. "Ooo, America gets a point for winning the eating contest, and I get a point for exorcism, and so we're still tied! What a wonderful idea, Big Brother France!"

France winked at him. Canada merely sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.

England cleared his throat loudly. "As I was saying, the next event should be arm-wrestling."

It was America's turn to perk up.

"How stupid do you think we are!" Germany demanded. "There's no way-"

"I want to do it!" Italy exclaimed.

Germany's rant died before it even got started.

"How does that prove who's a better boyfriend?" Canada asked in the tone of someone who knows full well that they might as well just keep their mouth shut. He also silently considered the fact that absolutely none of this, including the challenge that he himself suggested, proved anything at all, but really, it was just easier to not mention that.

"Shut up, Canada."

"What's arm wrestling?" Italy asked happily.

France gave a long-suffering sigh. Canada gave a little smile and a shake of his head. Germany wondered why he was surprised and let his head hit the desk. "It's too late!" England proclaimed, pointing at Italy dramatically. "You've accepted the second challenge! America! Show Italy how a good boyfriend arm wrestles!"

America, complete with his Challenge Smirk™ on his face, put his elbow on the table. He flexed his hand. "Bring it on, little guy. You start off like this."

Italy, smiling, mimicked him.

Less than five seconds later America had slammed Italy's hand down on the table. Italy began to cry, cradling the injured hand to his chest while wailing in Italian that no one could understand because it was so fast and tear-muffled.

"It doesn't count!" Germany proclaimed with as much authority in his voice as he could muster, rising to his boyfriend's defense.

"If you want that to be true, you have to beat me too." America grinned. So did England, although his was far more smug.

Germany regarded him evenly. "You win."

SCORE: AMERICA 2, ITALY 1

"But I now decree that the next challenge is painting!"

England's face fell.

* * *

America and Italy had been locked in a room with paints and a blank canvas while the others sat outside.

"Italy doesn't hop from war to war like a twisted Easter bunny!"

"America doesn't retreat or surrender every time someone sneezes!"

"Italy can cook and clean!"

"America can be incredibly romantic!"

"So can Italy!"

"Ha! Like I believe he even knows what romance is!"

"Italy is way nicer than America!"

"America is way buffer!"

"Do you want to just go?" Canada asked France.

"Oh _merci_ ," France gushed, dragging him out.

"Italy's delicate figure is endearing!"

"So is the fact that America is basically a giant teddy bear!"

* * *

Italy's painting was a "Madonna and Child" framed by a choir of angels. America drew Superman versus Batman, allegedly.

SCORE: AMERICA 2, ITALY 2

"Hey, why'd I lose!"

* * *

"America America it's midday let's go find food and then continue our search!" Italy exclaimed, taking America's arm and dragging him away from England.

America laughed, going with him (much to England's chagrin). "Dude you are so hardcore it's awesome! Where are we goin'?"

"Try a library!" England called after him before sighing and going to find Germany so they could track them. Last thing they needed was another demonic cult.

"Is _alibrary_ French for McDonald's?" America asked.

Italy made a face. "I hope not! McDonald's is _disgusting!_ "

America gasped and stopped walked, affronted. "You don't like McDonald's? I… I don't think we can be friends anymore."

"We can," Italy assured, taking his hand and dragging him along.

* * *

"HELLO, I AM HERE TO FIND A BOOK," America carefully enunciated to a terrified librarian, "IT IS CALLED _THE ATMOSPHERE_. DO YOU HAVE IT?"

The poor older woman stuttered something back in French.

"WHAT?"

She said it again.

"HUH? CAN YOU PLEASE SPEAK AMERICAN?"

"I think she said something about a dragon," Italy translated with his admittedly subpar French skills*. Then he realized what he said and screamed in terror. "A dragon!"

America's eyes were shining. "How cool! Let's go slay the dragon and find the book!"

"But I'm scared!"

"Why? You're with me!I'm the Hero, you're my sidekick, remember?"

Italy tugged on his sleeve, a pleading expression on his face. "But I'm still scared! Can we go get Germany and our other friends to help us, pleeeeaaaase?"

"Awwwwwwww, okay…"

* * *

* Really, really subpar French skills.

* * *

"A what." England's voice and expression were flat and disbelieving.

"According to the nice French librarian, _The Atmosphere_ is protected by a dragon," America repeated cheerfully.

"I can't believe neither of you speak French. I've failed as a big brother," France mourned. Canada patted him on the head.

"Come with us! I'm scared! I don't want to be eaten by a dragon!" Italy grabbed Germany's hand and held it tightly.

Germany sighed, unable to resist as always. "All right, but there isn't actually a dragon, I hope you know."

"Thank you!" Italy glomped him.

" _Ja ja._ "


	4. Chapter 4

"All right gang! We're a party of six, which is totally old-school, but it's awesome too so we're gonna work with it! I'm the Hero, which makes me the paladin I guess, or maybe the fighter - nyah, paladin sounds more badass, and anyway my Charisma score's through the roof, so I'm the paladin. England, you're definitely the team's mage, because you're all about black magic and stuff like that. Uh, Germany I guess is the other fighter, 'cause our team needs more than one, because any team needs more than one. Italy, we'll go with cleric for you, 'cause you totally pwned those demons, and that's what clerics do, plus heal stuff. France, you can be our bard because you're frilly, talk a lot, and are pretty useless."

"What about me?"

"Huh?"

"ME, America. You forgot me."

"Oh, right. Uh, any change you can be a dual-class, like fighter-cleric or cleric-mage? I'd say thief because any good team needs a rogue, but they're kinda useless for boss fights."

"(Sigh) I'm a ranger or a mage, obviously. I've got an animal companion, or a familiar if you want to look at him like that."

"Who?"

"Ohhhh yeeeaaaah! Awesome! Well, I think we'll go with ranger, 'cause we need more front-line fighters."

"But what if I use a bow?"

England was pinching the bridge of his nose. "Canada, stop antagonizing your brother."

"I'm not! It's a legitimate question! If I use bows, I won't be on the front lines."

"Yeah, geez England. Can you dual-wield, bro?"

"Sure. I just wanted to clarify."

"No prob. Okay, now that we've got that settled, time to plan! Okay, so first I will approach the dragon and placate him with my charisma. Italy and England, you two start lowering his magic resistance. This'll turn him hostile so we gotta be careful, but then Germany, Canada and I will rush forward to attack him! France, you'll stand away from everyone to sing and distract the dragon. Your singing will spur us on, as will your noble sacrifice when the dragon eats you first. Once his magic resistance is as low as we can get, Italy and England can start flinging spells - no fire spells, don't forget, and avoid area of effect spells 'cause if we all die that would suck! But Italy, you also have to heal us, so don't go crazy with the offensive stuff. Any questions?"

Germany looked to England. "Italy gets a point for this."

England merely sighed. "Yes, he does."

SCORE: AMERICA 2, ITALY 3

America ignored them, looking at Italy, who was hiding behind Germany. "Hey, uh, Canada, can you be a cleric instead?"

"Uh, a cleric-mage, yeah. Why?"

"Good, 'cause I think our party of six is actually a party of five..." America pointed to Italy, who had now started to stitch together a white flag.

France raised his hand. "I can be the cleric, if it means I get to be a different role than 'dragon bait.'"

"Revised plan! Canada will magically support England and... Italy. Yep."

"There is no dragon!" Germany declared. "You had a translation error! Dragons do not exist!"

"They prefer caves, at any rate," England murmured.

"What?"

"Nothing."

The outskirts of Paris were bare of life, riddled with rocks and overlooked by a shadowed cliff. "This was never here before," France said warily, not liking where this was going. "Seriously, why do these things keep showing up in my country? I'm kicking you all out after this."

"There's nothing here!" Germany insisted, sounding frustrated that no one, including Reality, was listening to his sanity. "It was – it was a translation error! There's nothing here!"

A loud roar echoed through the area, and a massive shape moved atop the cliff.

"Get out your weapons, everyone!" America called, pulling out a baseball bat. Canada held Kumajiro to his chest. England drew out a tome of great and powerful black magic that sadly wasn't as good as the one Russia had taken, but he'd do his best. Germany, ever the pragmatist, pulled out a gun. France and Italy both screamed and ran.

 _"FOR FREEDOM!"_ America cried, racing forward.

* * *

"Wow, that battle sure was intense," Italy said, bandaging wounds. America'd fared the worst, considering he was the only one actually up close against the dragon; everyone had some burns, but he had bite wounds. In contrast, the dragon had been slayed with a baseball bat, so he wasn't complaining too much. "You were all very impressive!"

"Shut up, Italy," Canada growled. He was ignored.

"I'll always be ready to fight for truth, justice, and the American way," America chirped, happy. "Although England, that was totally badass how you summoned that demon to fight the dragon, like King Kong versus Godzilla or something."

"I know," England replied smugly. "Canada, very nice show out there, especially managing to keep your brother from being charbroiled."

"Thanks," Canada replied sweetly, "And Germany, I had no idea your aim was that good! Especially how you debilitated the dragon by shooting its wings."

" _Danke_. And France and Italy were useless."

France, who'd hid, was starting to regret hiding his face at least; it sounded like a very climactic, intricate battle full of heroics and valiant sacrifices. If only he'd watched…

"So America gets another point?" England asked Germany. The latter nation nodded.

SCORE: AMERICA 3, ITALY 3

"Awesome!" America exclaimed.

Meanwhile Italy had gotten distracted and had run off to check through the dragon's horde. It was a vast collection of magical artifacts and trinkets of incredible wealth, all of which Italy didn't care about. His companions, following him, began to collect anything they deemed useful. "There's no books," he whined, growing visibly depressed. "If the dragon didn't have _The Atmosphere_ , then who will? I'm starting to think the book doesn't exist!"

"It took you long enough," England muttered, looking over an amulet.

"Awwww, don't worry little guy! We'll find it eventually," America cooed softly, petting Italy's hair.

France stood in front of the two of them, looking as imperious as he could. "You may yet find it, but you will find it _in another country. Get out._ "

* * *

After agreeing that it wasn't fair to go to any of their own respective countries, our heroes made the trek to Austria. Upon arriving, Italy gave Austria a hug, ran around until he found Hungary and gave her a hug, and then dragged America to give him a tour.

"So you're competing to see who's the better significant other?" Austria questioned, sipping the vintage wine he only indulged in when he had guests. "To me, that seems like arguing about who is more unstable, Belarus or Russia; they're both sociopathic, so what's the point of getting into the details? In this case, both America and Italy are men-children with attention-deficit hyperactive disorder who are slovenly and incompetent."

Despite having said similar things about their respective partners in the past, both Germany and England looked affronted at Austria's diagnosis. "Just answer the question, Sigmund," England said bitterly.

Austria hummed thoughtfully. "Well, where are they now?"

"Raiding your library, most likely," Germany admitted. "They've decided to find a book called _The Atmosphere_ , because… well… _ja._ "

Austria facepalmed, albeit in a refined way. "Really. Well, rather than give you my opinion on the two young men in question, perhaps a better way to solve this would be to give them a very unbiased standardized intelligence quotient test."

Germany looked horrified. "You want to give them an IQ test? They might make it explode!"

"That's better than getting your opinion anyway," England interjected thoughtfully, "Come to think of it, you helped raise Italy, didn't you? Of course you'd be biased in his favor-"

"Actually I would have finally decided that America was preferable to Italy, but the point still stands, I am biased," Austria admitted airily.

Germany looked as if he had been slapped in the face. "You would have voted for _America?_ "

Austria shrugged. "Italy was a very, very poor servant."

"So what does that say about you and your standards for your spouses?"

"Regardless, I shall prepare the tests."

* * *

Hours later, Austria collected the intelligence tests to score them.

"Dang, that took foreeeever," America whined, rubbing his temples. "And I hope Austria appreciates all the doodles!" England facepalmed, hard.

"Veeeeeeeeeeee, my head huuuuuuuuuurts." Even Italy's curl was depressed.

"Cheer up," Germany said gruffly, thrusting a covered package into his hands. "I got this for you."

"I love presents!" Italy trilled, ripping apart the wrapping paper to discover a hard cover copy of _The Atmosphere._ " GERMANY GERMANY YOU FOUND IT YOU FOUND IT!" He glomped him. "YOU'RE SO AMAZING AND WONDERFUL AND I CAN'T BELIEVE YOU FOUND IT!"

Germany considered pointing out that he'd just gone to a bookstore and bought a book on the actual, literal atmosphere, but refrained.

"Awwww," said America. "Luckyyy. Why didn't _you_ get me one, England?"

"America. The atmosphere isn't a book. It's an idea. 'Reading the atmosphere' is being able to understand the-"

America reached out and covered England's mouth with a finger. "I know," he said easily. "I was just having fun. Italy's so cute, isn't he? I wanna take him home and squish him."

England stared at him. "So this entire time, you've been… looking for nothing?"

"Yep!"

"And before that, you've known what the atmosphere is?"

"Yep!"

"… And you've refused to read it anyway?"

"Yep! Because I didn't want to ^_^"

England's hands shot out and grabbed America around the neck, squeezing.

When Austria came back, Germany and Italy were making out while England was attempting to throttle America. He waved the results of the tests, causing pauses in both activities. "I can't believe I'm saying this, but they have exactly equal IQs."

"And?" England demanded angrily. "What's the score! Out with it!"

"... … …"

"What?"

"170! They both scored 170! 140 is considered genius!"

Germany and England had the exact same expression of profound disbelief on their faces.

"That's good, right?" Italy asked.

Germany and England looked at each other. "Do you want to just quit?" Germany asked. England nodded. "Me too." The two walked out, profoundly horrified and vowing to never speak of this again.

America beamed. "So, did I win? We were competing, right?"


End file.
